


Miss Lemon Finds Out

by shaitarn



Category: Poirot - Agatha Christie
Genre: M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-02
Updated: 2014-09-02
Packaged: 2018-02-15 22:50:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2246286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaitarn/pseuds/shaitarn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a small idea I typed up for my own amusement. I may extend it if anyone's interested. Pretty much what it says on the tin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Miss Lemon Finds Out

The flat was rather quiet when I entered that morning, but that wasn’t too unusual, so I didn’t think much of it as I closed the front door and removed my coat. I checked my hair quickly in the mirror (since I knew Mister Poirot would be deeply aggrieved if it didn’t meet his exacting standards) and decided it was satisfactory before I peered into the front room.

Hastings was sprawled on the sofa, reading the paper. He looked up and gave me a quick smile. “Morning, Miss Lemon.”

I was mildly surprised to see him – I usually arrived before he did. “Good morning, Captain Hastings.” I glanced around the room. “Where’s Mister Poirot?” My employer was never late. “He’s not ill, is he?” Mister Poirot had been working long hours recently to help Japp catch a murderer, and I knew Hastings was as concerned about the effect it might be having on his health as I was.

“No, far from it. He’s having a shower."

I raised my eyebrows at that.“A shower? At this time of the morning?”

“Yes; we had a breakthrough on the case after you left last night. Japp called us to say he’d discovered where Scoles was hiding, and we went along with him. It was the early hours of the morning before it was all concluded, so I came back here with Poirot and we both slept in rather late, I’m afraid.”

Something about what he’d said struck me as a bit odd, but I couldn’t think what – it was unusual for Poirot to sleep in, but his explanation was reasonable enough, even if I wasn’t familiar with his scrupulously honest nature so I gave a slight shrug. “I see. Well, I’ll make his tisane then. Would you like a cup of tea?”

“That would be kind of you; thanks, Miss Lemon.”

It wasn’t until I’d filled the kettle and put it on the hob that I realised what had struck me as wrong earlier: although Poirot was the one having a late shower, Hastings’ hair had looked decidedly wet.

***

 _There’s probably a perfectly reasonable explanation,_ I thought as I set the letters for posting down on the hall table. _Captain Hastings does stay over in the spare room sometimes. And even if there is something going on – and it’s a big ‘if’, Felicity – it’s not my place to judge them._

I reached for my hat and stepped back into the front room. "Goodnight, Mister Poirot; Captain Hastings."

Poirot smiled at me from his desk, Hastings from the sofa. “Good night, Miss Lemon.” They didn’t quite speak in unison, but near enough that I smiled, and saw Hastings grin as well.

There was a chilly wind blowing, and I drew my coat tight around me as I walked away to the nearest bus stop. My mind returned to the topic it had been chewing at all day: the exact nature of Poirot’s and Hastings’ relationship. There had been subtle little hints here and there, things that might have been innocent or might have meant…something.

I drew level with the pillar box and suddenly realised I’d left the letters I meant to post on the hall table. “Blast,” I muttered in irritation. With a sigh I turned back to the flat; it would only take me a few minutes to collect them.

***

The flat was quiet when I returned. “It’s only me, Mister Poirot,” I called. “I forgot the post.” I scooped up the letters and as I hadn’t heard any reply glanced curiously at the main room; it was only dimly lit – I could see a couple of the lamps shining through the glass door. Surely he hadn’t gone to bed already? I stepped into the room. “I’m sorry if I’m disturbing you-,” I began, and then stopped.

Hastings was sitting in Poirot’s chair, which was decidedly odd. I was about to ask where Mister Poirot was and then realised he was kneeling in front of Hastings, and – _oh; oh my._ I could feel the blood rush to my face as I stared, mouth open.

Poirot half–turned to look at me over his shoulder. A stricken expression passed over his face and for once he seemed at a loss for words. “Miss Lemon-” he began.

Hastings gave me an easy smile. There was a gleam in his eye that I wasn’t used to seeing. “Now’s not a good time, Miss Lemon; do you mind?” He said; his tone was pleasant, but with an edge of command I’d never heard before. He reached down with one hand, stroking it over Poirot’s head before clasping the back of his neck. “Who gave you permission to stop?” He asked.

“I am sorry, _mon capitaine_ , so sorry-” 

I backed off, gripping the post tightly, and fled before I could see or hear any more.


End file.
